


Remember me (for centuries)

by behzaintfunny



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: A.C. Milan, Consensual Infidelity, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-14 15:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16495742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behzaintfunny/pseuds/behzaintfunny
Summary: Suso is determined to secure AC Milan's first clean sheet in the Serie A since April 15th of the 2017/18 season, even if it means wooing every single defender this club has until they start defending properly. It might not work, but at this point he'll try everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeapAngstily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/gifts).



_Mirror mirror on the wall, why can't my defence stop the fucking ball?_

If not Betis or Inter, then Sampdoria. He's almost ready for them to concede first before it even happens. It's an odd kind of routine that he cannot stop even if he tried. Walking out onto the pitch hardly thrills him anymore. He tries his best, runs the most he can, as usual, yet to no avail. They still win somehow, as though some higher force couldn't stand watching them draw and lose game after game, but only just about. He stares Quagliarella, the unsung hero, down and curses him in his head. If not for Patrick's magical feet and Pipita's years of experience, they would not be so cheerful. They win, yet it still feels like a loss.

He feels Mateo at his side, walking down the pitch with him and congratulating the ever loyal supporters. He cannot refrain from standing on his tiptoes and kissing his cheek.

"You played well today." he whispers. It is only for them to hear.

Mateo looks down at his feet. His smile fades slightly before he collects himself and flashes Suso his most practised smile.

"Your goal was beautiful. They should start calling it the Suso special soon." he jokes, "Before you know it, there's going to be a statue of you standing before the entry doors."

Suso laughs, "I'll wait for that to happen."

"Better aim for a clean sheet next time, no?" Mateo says, a silent hint of disappointment hidden between the gentle smile, "Would you like to--"

"Yes."

San Siro laughs, San Siro cries. Suso lets himself be taken away by Cutrone or Bonaventura, he doesn't pay mind. He looks back and sees Mateo's eyes still on him. They hold a promise he cannot quite decipher.

**

It's hardly the first time Mateo is a guest in Suso's house, but it's likely the first time they struggle to even make it to the bed.

Mateo takes Suso in his arms just after they've walked in, his back steady against the front door. The embrace bears more importance than any kiss would, somehow. Suso feels the exhaustion from earlier slowly seep out of Mateo's body as they cling onto each other like never before. It feels oddly familiar in a way, to have Mateo like this. He silently wonders why they've never done this before.

"Come to bed," Suso mumbles against Mateo's neck, "I'll take good care of you."

They undress slowly, as though there is but a single care on the planet. Suso takes with embarassment how he's never noticed the way Mateo's hands shake when he's feeling weak, not even after months of getting to know each other. He lays him on the bed, plush comforter soft against his back, before turning him around. Mateo doesn't even raise an eyebrow, already confident enough in trusting him.

The bed dips slightly when he straddles Mateo's calves, the mattress creaking once he decidedly presses him into it. Suso kneads at the tender muscles that form Mateo's thighs. He's burning up underneath where Suso touches him, spine arching when it's on the verge of being too painful. Why Mateo couldn't simply see the physio, Suso doesn't ask. He has a good enough guess.

"Are you angry with me?" Mateo whispers against the pillow, so faint Suso might have imagined it altogether if he didn't know him that well.

"Angry?" Suso asks as his hands edge higher up, leaving light kisses around Mateo's shoulder blades, "Why should I be?"

Mateo moans quietly when Suso untangles the worst knots inside his muscles, "I figured you would. How long has it been since we last kept a clean sheet in the league?"

Suso doesn't answer, instead moving higher up Mateo's legs to straddle his aching thighs and massage his back. He knows exactly how many days it has been up to date but figures that is not at all what Mateo's seeking.

"Too long." Mateo says, wholly defeated, "I know you care a lot about this. About the team. It must have taken a toll on you."

"I care about _you_ , Mateo." Suso replies, tone gentle yet convincing, "The rest don't matter. We'll toughen up in defence eventually, it's only a matter of time."

Mateo shifts slightly so that he can look Suso in the eyes when he asks, "What would you have me do differently?"

Suso tugs at the barest bit of black material disabling him from touching Mateo skin on skin. His lips seek Mateo's in a silent answer, conveying many more genuine words than he'd ever be capable of expressing. His hand cups Mateo's cheek as he stares at the brown eyes that look at him with the slightest tinge of confusion.

"All the defence needs is some more concentration. You mustn't give up so easily, especially after conceding. The game doesn't end then. Don't lose focus so easily." he whispers against his lips, "Maybe all you really need is some care and a little love."

Mateo chuckles, "Do you reckon that's the cure to our defensive problems? With a few stolen kisses?"

Suso lands the barest of kisses on Mateo's lips as if on cue, "Maybe a little more than that."

He lies down next to Mateo to engulf in his arms and press himself snug against his chest. He kisses up Mateo's neck lazily, as though testing his patience. The pitch has proven Mateo doesn't posess much of it. Suso is thus twice as determined to prove the pitch wrong.

"Try to think of what will happen after we don't concede at all." Suso mumbles against the warm skin, grazing his teeth on it experimentally, "Do it for me. I'll have you come home with me again."

Mateo runs his hands up Suso's back before putting a thigh around his side and urging him closer, "Hmm, what then?"

"I guess you'll have to find out for yourself."

They lay together, beaten up by the figurative hands of exhaustion. Suso trails circles up and down Mateo's back in a lazy reverence, the game still not fully out of his head yet. He feels the way Mateo's chest rises and falls as he breathes, the most primitive form of intimacy that can hardly be put into words. He didn't realize before but he truly wants to see Mateo in his barest, most unaltered form. They could fall asleep like this, untouched and taken away by sheer exhaustion, but it isn't at all in his interest.

"I'm going to shower," he says quietly, not to disrupt Mateo in his calmness, and presses a kiss to the side of his chin, "Care to join?"

Mateo doesn't answer, only shifts as his hand seeks Suso's. It makes Suso forget how they got here in the first place.

Perhaps it never truly mattered.

**

The warm water washes down their sweat as they cling onto eachother, Suso's smaller form encapturing Mateo in a tangle of arms as the bathroom fills with the smell of peaches. It's almost too hot, causing his skin to tingle, but it's exactly what their muscles needed. He lathers foam up Mateo's sides, pressing delicately at the spaces between his ribs, while continuously leaving feather light kisses atop his spine. He basks in the sound it causes to fall out of Mateo's lips, the weight of many unanswered questions heavy between them.

Suso's doing this for the greater good, he tells himself. It's what the club deserves.

His body begs to differ as his hands run up to meet Mateo's neck. He shifts them around so that they're facing each other, pleasantly dazed, before kissing him on the lips. Gattuso and the fans are quickly forgotten, whatever reasoning having already evaporated. Mateo's heart is thumping inside his chest so loudly even the shower doesn't mute it as they explore each other anew, as though they've never even met. In Mateo's arms, Suso feels smaller than he ever has, and he cannot get enough of this feeling.

He sinks to his knees as though out of instinct. He takes Mateo apart piece by piece, savouring each moment as though nothing will ever be the same. Kissing the inside of Mateo's thigh feels almost natural, as does nibbling at the warm skin. Suso marvels in Mateo's vocal range as though it's the finest of operas, dazed on adrenaline just as much as on adoration. He keeps his eyes open despite the unrelenting water to gaze at the angle with which Mateo's lips open, the way his head falls back to meet the cold wall, the way his hand seeks Suso's hair. If magic truly does exist then it has consumed him fully, from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair. For once he doesn't overthink, focusing only on this very moment. It's so peaceful that he almost wants to voice his thoughts, only refraining when Mateo urges him away and up to his feet.

He looks at him through lidded eyes, searching balance in his broad shoulders and pressing for dear life. This time it's Mateo who seeks the other's lips, the needy noise deep down his throat not having escaped Suso's ears.

He could have this go on forever.

**

It's the 92nd minute. _As it always is._ He couldn't stop the scream rising up his throat even if he tried once the ball gets past Radu _(finally)_ and Alessio laughs in sheer disbelief.

He gazes upon the waves of red and black that fill the stadium once the final whistle pierces through the air. Thousands of faces overcome by the most surreal kind of ecstasy, one that cannot physically be explained yet we all know it when we feel it. Tingles and shivers running up their spines, their hands forming into fists that pound the thick air, a guttural roar that reverberates through his head long after it's all over.

It's electrifying.

They smile and laugh like there is no tomorrow, latching onto each other in a frenzy as though it's the most natural thing in the world. He watches as Pipita and Ricardo run at Alessio in a tangle of arms, the most genuine happiness pounding in their veins. Alessio cannot do much in this case, cannot even motivate his team to keep up the good work, only smile as Ricardo lands a kiss on his cheek. He grins as he undresses hastily, the memories of a goal and the ache in his body all forgotten. Mateo walks over to him and fills the empty space at his side, Hakan already lost in the showers, before laying his head on his shoulder and laughing.

"It really feels good, no?"

The sparkle in Mateo's eyes as he speaks is unmistakably adoring, the earlier gloom having faded away with Alessio's winning goal. Suso smiles and throws his arm around Mateo's shoulder, urging him even closer. If Mateo can hear how uncannily loud his heart is thumping in his chest, he doesn't voice it.

He looks at Mateo, at Alessio, at Gigio, at everyone and at no one, "I intend to keep it that way."

It's not a clean sheet, but it's a step forward, little as it may be. He asks Mateo to go home with him again, this time not because he feels like he has to. He truly, deeply wants him to.

Another sun sets in Milan. A hope for a better tomorrow, perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear friend, I'm writing this as I'm in your town, waiting for my train to drive off. I hope you enjoy this first chapter of a multi-chapter fic (yes, I'm really doing this!). I hope my execution of our mutual idea met your expectations <3
> 
> Lastly, I'd like to point out how much I enjoyed writing about Suso and Musacchio. This is a very underappreciated duo and I am here to change it. Mateo might be making a comeback in the future chapters for all I know.
> 
> As always, all kudos and comments are incredibly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

Whenever he looks at him, he thinks of recently blossomed roses, early Sunday mornings and the refreshing aroma on dew against freshly cut grass. Magnificent sunrises and sunsets alike, every little thing he would have never usually pointed out, alongside a deep-red coloured heart that has only ever beaten for one team.

Davide Calabria is a mystery. Suso isn't very fond of those.

Though he doesn't adorn the same messy locks he used to, as he is hardly a boy anymore but a man determined to succeed, there is an off kind of innocence around him. It shows in the way he treats people, all kind smiles and pleasantries yet you never doubt their sincerity, and the way he presents himself. He dresses almost daringly, which says surprisingly much about him, much alike a certain someone. Suso sees it in his eyes, stone cold and focused on the aim before him, a magical myriad of the most surreal blues and greens. It's almost as if he is meant to captain this team someday. One way or another, the once piercingly blue eyes that screamed of passion and devotion, of betrayal and agony, will never even close for the thousands of supporters that watch them. He doesn't dare confess this to Davide, not wishing him any more self-assurance than he already prides himself on. He only ever watches, ever so careful, not to miss a single thing.

But not even God's eyes can miss no detail.

How he has never before noticed the way Davide's glance lingers on Patrick a tad too long, or the way his hand can never truly leave the back of his neck, is beyond him. Everything has changed once Suso truly looked at how they never leave each other's side during training, how Patrick hurries back to the changing room not to run into Davide, or how now that Manuel is gone they've found themselves helplessly pining from afar, yet so close. His perfectly thought-out plan has shattered to pieces with the single realisation that they were not going to let go so easily. It's not an unwanted spurt of attraction or a crush, like many he has seen and experienced before, but something much stronger than that. He has only ever seen a few succeed to keep a bond this pure and good within the cruel business that is football, yet he has almost no doubts that they will make it work somehow.

It's almost funny, really. They are so young, the entire world up for their grabs, and Suso feels it's almost compulsory for him to do something about it.

Contrary to popular belief, he is no devil. He doesn't have it in himself to destroy what they have.

Thus, he decides to build on it.

**

Suso is informed Davide is in no way fit to feature against Udinese.

_Or Betis._

_Or Juve._

He beats himself up for it later, because he feels like he needs to take the symbolic punch for the whole team, in the stadium's showers after training. The unbearably warm stream of water that silences even the monstrous thumping inside his head clears him off the feeling that he could have prevented this. It's stupid, of course, he knows it, but he's renowed for caring too much even about the things that don't concern him personally. It's never stopped him before, nor it ever will.

Mateo stands outside not to disrupt him, quiet knuckles against the cold wall, and asks if he's going to be okay.

Suso won't answer.

**

The cozy ambience of his captain's living room seems to have consumed him wholly for what appears to be a third time this week. He finds himself reaching out to possibly the only other person that cares more often than not. He never had this with Bonucci, and not nearly as intensely with Montolivo. They're both captains he truly respects, one more than the other, but they've never made him feel this way.

Whatever he and Mateo have, it's beautiful. He doesn't wish to let that change for as long as possible. Alessio, on the other hand, seems to have taken unexpected control of his heart, possibly without realisation.

They're lounging on the couch, attentively watching the latest two Udinese games to prepare themselves for what's coming. They're close together, as they always have been, so close that if Suso tried enough he could lean the littlest bit closer and kiss him, something he has dreamed and fantasized about for too long to be platonic.

He's not certain how Alessio would react then, and that alone petrifies him.

"How do you know we're ever going to keep a clean sheet again?" Suso asks into nothingness, staring at the ceiling lamp for too long to be considered healthy.

"I don't," Alessio answers, "Chances are, it's going to happen eventually. I have no idea when."

"Am I the problem?"

"You?" Alessio asks, so quick and insulted that it causes Suso to look at him _(God, he looked, he's lost, he's never going to look away now--)_ , "What makes you think that?"

He says it just as Romero gets sent off, flashes of a red card all too faint for Suso to remotely care. He's seen it over and over again, a ten men advantage yet no one ever does anything with it. Nothing about this Udinese eleven makes him feel like they could score a late winner, but odds are always defied when Milan is concerned. Suso laughs, despite himself, and looks pitifully at Alessio.

"Because! It's never the defence! Or, it is, we've gotten so bad there, really, it's just--" Suso goes on until he feels Alessio's hand on top of his thigh, a heavy weight steadying him in place, "Right. I'm rambling."

"You are." this time it's Alessio whose eyes express such pity that cannot be hidden or denied. Though, Suso isn't so sure he should be this glad about being pitied by him.

"Well, we would have done nothing without you." Suso admits, all too sincere for his liking, and lands his hand on top of Alessio's experimentally, "Mateo tries, bless his soul, but there's always something he cannot quite get to. So does Ricardo, to his credit. Davide's likely the only consistent defender beside you. Or, was."

Alessio smiles gently, "And what about Gigio?"

"I'll get to him eventually, but not yet. He's the last line to guard us, after all. We can't blame him for everything."

"He's still so young," Alessio says, much more to himself than Suso, "As are we. We seem to forget about that most of the time."

Suso laughs, head thrown back against the couch and staring at that damn ceiling lamp again, "I feel like I've aged _at least_ thirty years this season."

"Hmm, then how much has Rino aged? Do you suppose he's going to announce his retirement soon?"

"I hope not," Suso wipes at his eyes to smudge away tears from too much laughter as well as weariness from too little sleep, "Maybe we should have Pirlo coach the team next. It'd feel almost natural."

"Ah yes, the circle of life. Pippo, Rino, Pirlo... Is Montolivo next in line of succession?"

Suso grins, "I wouldn't dare deny fate."

"Enough about the future, old man. Would you like me to talk to Davide?"

Suso looks at the forgotten TV and stretches his legs out, "No, I'd like you to talk to Patrick."

"Patrick?" Alessio chuckles, "Why is that? I do believe that if anyone has no do in creating and securing our awful records, it's Patrick."

"Maybe he doesn't, but someone does. Patrick can help me with that certain someone."

"I hate it when you speak like that." Alessio laughs and slaps his knee playfully, "And the frown on your face! You scare me, you know?"

Suso notices how he can never truly stop smiling around his captain, "Am I really that bad?"

"Absolutely insufferable."

They both are, two idiots that care far too much about their team, and they know it.

They wouldn't have it any other way.

**

He has close to no idea what to do with Davide. So, naturally, he sleeps at Mateo's place again.

It's become a sort of a safe space for him, oddly enough. Mateo is always good company and rarely judges him for anything, lets him sulk whenever he feels like it, or kiss down his neck if he's feeling lucky. Suso likes playing with the edges of whatever this is they have, undisclosed full of blurred lines. He enjoys the freedom it gives him.

"You can't serve as the determined love interest, so instead you will play cupid?" Mateo chuckles, soft lips against Suso's hair, "I must say I'm quite flattered."

"Is that so?" Suso asks before he can possibly stop himself, "Are you implying my impish charm and questionable tactics haven't worked on you?"

"If by worked you mean getting into my bed, then I guess you have a point." Mateo laughs, a bliss so genuine is causes Suso's heart to flutter, "You mustn't ruin the poor boy. I won't allow it."

"On the contrary," he mumbles, attempting to follow Mateo's heartbeat in hopes it lulls him to dreamless sleep, "I'll give him the very thing his heart desires most."

"Should I be jealous?"

"A little, possibly." Suso whispers, holding back a chuckle, "But you needn't worry about Davide. It's not me he wants to write love poems about."

Mateo will ask him if he'll ever look at him the way Davide looks at Patrick, all tired daze he is bound to regret later.

And Suso won't answer.

**

Frankly, Suso has no idea what young Italian boys would want to do on a first date. He's certain it differs from his usual preferences, if he even has specific ones that don't end up in cuddling on the sofa or the bed, but that's where his awareness ends.

Seeking help from Alessio seems only natural. It's by far the most rational thing to do whilist not embarassing yourself too much in the process. Maybe if he tells himself that enough, he'll actually believe it. So what if his heart somersaults a tenfold every time Alessio looks him down, or does anything at all? Davide is the most important thing. Once he is delightfully out of the equation, unresolved emotions are going to be dealt with. Theoretically speaking, that is.

"Are you sure they're not going to be disrupted?"

Suso asks for the umpteenth time from the spot on the carpet he has proclaimed as his own, toying anxiously with the ends of the blanket thrown carelessly on the couch's arm. It has become quite a frequent visitor on the previously empty sofa ever since Suso has been coming over.

"Positive," Alessio reassures him, a few final glances in the mirror before they leave, "My friend's promised me at least five times that it'll be as discreet as humanly possible. Their booth's decently in the corner. Plus, I genuinely doubt any of the lovesick girls will let their boyfriends steal looks at some guys that resemble footballers."

Suso hums noncommittally, mind already somewhere else, praying that everything doesn't go wrong. He's asked practically every friend Patrick has what his culinary preferences are, if he has any allergies or if he's fine paying a little bit more. He's a bit more certain of Davide, though he can never be too certain. What if Davide only likes his mother's pasta? What if the restaurant is all too passé for today's youth? _What if--_

"Is everything alright?"

Only then does he look up at Alessio who's patiently waiting for him, hand extended in a silent invitation. Suso has never had much mind to refuse him anything.

"You know, you didn't have to dress like this," Suso chuckles, feeling the soft cuffs of Alessio's dress shirt with his hands, "Polo shirts aren't even that out of style yet. You're just being a show-off."

"Hmm, maybe I am. Maybe I simply wanted to dress nicely tonight."

Suso tilts his head and smiles gently, "And what's the occasion?"

"It's not only Davide and Patrick's first official date, I believe," suddenly, Alessio's hands are encapturing his own, "I think I'm still yet to ask you out properly."

Suso hits him on the shoulder and laughs nervously. It's much easier like that. He doesn't say it, though Alessio might have expected him to, but they both know it.

It's clear in their eyes that they cannot get enough of each other. Maybe they never will.

**

They meet Patrick and Davide at Milanello, however awkward it may be at first. The tension breaks the moment they get into the car, too embarassed to do anything under the watchful gaze of their captain, but just as painfully obvious. Suso sees Patrick toying with Davide's fingers in his lap, silent exchanges in quite the overwhelming atmosphere. He has no doubts they're going to be okay.

Alessio and Suso don't get out of the car when they drop them off. They let Patrick walk Davide to the restaurant's door, what seems like a metaphor far too symbolic for Suso to miss. Davide looks back at him with a smile before entering the place, mouthing a sincere thank you. Patrick hurries him in by pulling at his arm, and then, they are alone.

Alessio convinces Suso he is a better chef than any who work in this small restaurant. It's a blatant lie with the sole purpose of making Suso smile, but he accepts nonetheless.

At night, he dreams of not being alone. He wakes up to Alessio's arms comfortably around his torso. Suso has never been fond of mornings but, for this, he could make an exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is taking a turn but honestly? I like it. The once really simple idea for a fic is going to provide a multi-relationship drama with some bits of humour thrown around. Good job, me.
> 
> Also, happy 100 years of independence to my beautiful country, Poland. I'll love you forever.
> 
> Your feedback is greatly appreciated! As you know, I love comments and hearing whatever people have to say about my fics. Please don't hesitate to leave some love!


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